


The Colour of Despair

by Ironfrost



Series: delusions of grandeur [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Crack, M/M, i managed to write something not-angsty for once, modern!AU, unless you count the loss of enjolras' blonde hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:07:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ironfrost/pseuds/Ironfrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras lost a bet, and now the blonde hair has to go. Then Courfeyrac gets jealous and also wants his hair dyed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colour of Despair

**Author's Note:**

> This is something stupid I wrote a long time ago when someone asked me for e/R fluff. I don't even know. (There might also be a sequel where Enjolras gets his blonde hair back again. I might already have written it.)

It started out as a bet. These kind of things always does. No one actually expected them to go through with it.

But Enjolras is a man of his word, even when he has to pay the price for it.

Like letting Grantaire dye his hair when he lost said bet. 

This was not going to end well. 

\---

“Are you sure about this, Enjolras?” Combeferre says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was apparent he did not condone this sort of actions.

Enjolras just sighs.

“I promised. I can't go back on this now.” 

“You know Courfeyrac is the one who's buying the hair dye? He'll probably come back with green or pink or something?”

Enjolras shudders. He hadn't thought of that.

“If the colour is terrible, I won't go through with it. But a promise is a promise.”

Combeferre shrugs. 

“It's your hair.”

 

Enjolras isn't really worried. It's only hair. He doesn't care about it. Even if it is Grantaire who is going to dye it. Grantaire, who's currently emptying his second bottle of wine this evening. 

Okay, maybe he is a bit worried. 

Courfeyrac barges through the door with a bag held triumphantly over his head. 

“I've got it!”

He empties the contents of the bag onto the kitchen table, and everyone piles in to see.

Luckily, it's neither pink nor green. It's dark brown. The box promises a 'chestnut brown with a gleaming finish'.

“Woah,” Joly says. Enjolras doesn't have to look at Combeferre to know he's disapproving of this, he can feel him shaking his head at the other side of the room.

“Are you sure about this?” he tries again. 

Enjolras' hair is, as it has always been, a light blonde. He has never known a different colour. Dying it brown will be quite a change. 

“At least it's not pink,” he offers. He looks at Grantaire. 

“Go ahead.”

Grantaire laughs.

Jehan pulls out a chair, and Enjolras sits down. A towel is draped around his shoulders to prevent any dye to drip onto his t-shirt. Courfeyrac starts mixing the dye together, and gasps dramatically when it's ready.

“This is going to be wild!” he exclaims. Enjolras just rolls his eyes.

Courfeyrac hands the small bottle to Grantaire, who has put on the gloves that came with it. Everyone is currently in the process of getting settled into the small kitchen space to watch this scene unfold. Enjolras could feel eight pairs of eyes on him, and although he was used to being watched, this was different, and he had to fight the urge to squirm. 

Grantaire screws the top off.

“Aren't you going to read the instructions?” Enjolras asks, a hint of worry in his voice.

He gets a scoff in return.

“I used to dye my sister's hair when we were younger. I know what I'm doing.”

“I didn't know you aspired to become a hairdresser,” Feuilly laughs. Grantaire throws the cork at him.

 

Grantaire is actually doing a pretty good job. Of course, Enjolras can't see what he's doing, but everyone watching is apparently very impressed. Grantaire parts his hair, and applies the dye in quick movements. Enjolras forgets to be worried for a second.

Enjolras can feel Grantaire's hands ghosting over his head, and something lurches deep inside him. Something between the two of them changed after the night outside the Musain, but neither of them has acknowledged it. At every meeting, Grantaire's contributions are still of the sarcastic and unhelpful kind, and Enjolras still just watches him with an exasperated look. 

It doesn't take long until all the dye is spread out in his hair. 

“You can wash it out in 30 minutes. Until then, sit still,” he says, mimicking the tone of voice Enjolras uses when he is giving orders at the Musain. Their friends laugh, but Enjolras doesn't find it funny at all.

Courfeyrac leaps off the counter where he had been sitting with Jehan. 

“My turn!” he says while tumbling down into another kitchen chair. He pulls up another box of dye from the bag. This time it's blue.

“Really?” Enjolras says incredulous. 

“Yes, it will be wonderful. And Grantaire is really good!” Courfeyrac is nearly bouncing in his chair. Jehan produces another towel and puts it around him. Grantaire shrugs, and changes gloves.

Ten minutes later, Courfeyrac's hair is a blue-black mess.

“Epicccc,” he hisses. 

Enjolras is quite impressed with Grantaire. He had been watching him work on Courfeyrac's hair, and there is no denying that the man was pretty good at this. He worked quick and efficiently, and Enjolras doubted anyone else could do that so well knowing the amount of alcohol Grantaire had consumed. 

After a while people grow bored of watching Enjolras and Courfeyrac just sitting there, and one by one they go back into the living room. Jehan remains to keep them company. Courfeyrac is bursting with excitement, and Jehan is trying to get him to sit still so he won't spray dye all over the kitchen. 

Grantaire comes back, a new bottle of wine in his hand. He looks at his watch. 

“You can rinse out the dye now,” he says to Enjolras. 

Enjolras gets up carefully, and makes his way towards the bathroom.

“You need any help?” Grantaire offers.

“I think I can manage,” Enjolras answers, and closes the door after him.

Getting the dye out turns out to be a challenge, but after ten minutes Enjolras is certain he has gotten it all out. He dries his hair on the ratty old towel, and goes back out when Courfeyrac is banging on the door, ready to rinse out his own hair. He gapes when he looks at Enjolras.

“Duuude. You don't even look like yourself anymore,” he says. Enjolras raises his eyebrow in response. He didn't even bother to look in the mirror before he went out.

He goes into the living room, where everyone is chatting animately. They see him, and everyone goes quiet. 

“Wow. That was...different,” Bossuet says. 

“But, like, it suits you,” Bahorel says. 

Grantaire says nothing, but comes up to him. 

“You have some dye on you skin,” he says, and leads him into the kitchen.

“Sit down,” he says, and gets out the cotton pads Courfeyrac was smart enough to buy. He dabs them with nail varnish remover, and starts rubbing the dye off. 

“How does it look?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire hums in response. “It seems to go off pretty well.”

“The hair,” Enjolras clarifies. 

“It looks good,” he answers. “I don't think any colour would dare not to suit you.”

“You don't like it,” Enjolras says, slightly amused.

“Well, I have to say, I prefer the blonde look on you, Apollo,” he answers with a smile. The smile creeps into Enjolras' soul, and stays. There is an inexplicable warmth creeping throughout him.

When Grantaire is done, Enjolras walks out into the hallway, looking into the mirror by the front door. His hair is really dark. He can hardly recognise himself. Grantaire follows him, and Enjolras meets his eyes in the mirror.

“I think I agree,” he says. 

“I can help you dye it back,” Grantaire says. “If you want.”

Enjolras turns to face him. “I think you might have to.”

He is suddenly aware of how close he is to Grantaire. Again he feels his hand itch to reach out to him, to touch him and he has no idea where it keeps coming from.

Neither of them say anything, they just stare at each other. Without meaning to, Enjolras' hand find its way to Grantaire's hair, and he's stroking a curl back from his eyes. Grantaire holds his breath slightly, not sure what's happening, but not wanting to stop him. Enjolras wants to offer an explanation for his hand's treacherous behaviour, but he is uncharacteristically at a loss of words. 

He lowers his hand again, but Grantaire reaches out to grasp it. There is no witty comeback, no sarcastic smile. Grantaire looks down at their hands, and then back into Enjolras' eyes. They have moved passed words, and their bodies are tentatively trying to say things their mouths never could. What that might be, they have no idea. All Enjolras knows is that he needs to get closer, because Grantaire is too far away. He is a little frightened about what's happening, but he does not want it to stop.

The bathroom door is yanked open, and they jump away from each other. Courfeyrac comes out in the hallway with a grin that almost goes around his head.

“This is awesome!” he shouts, and pushed Enjolras away from the mirror. He stumbles slightly, and Grantaire steadies him, not meeting his eyes. Both of them look at Courfeyrac. 

There isn't much of a change, his hair is too dark for the blue to really come out, but Courfeyrac is apparently very pleased. He is admiring himself at every angle.

“This is so edgy! JEHAN!” 

The poet suddenly appears next to him. Courfeyrac turns to look at him.

“What do you think?” he beams.

Jehan smiles at him.

“Beautiful.”

Courfeyrac bends down to kiss Jehan, which nine out of ten times ends with....

“We should get out of here,” Grantaire mumbles. Enjolras nods, and both of them hurries back into the living room just as the two boys in front of the mirror starts shedding their clothes.


End file.
